


if i keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you

by OAbsalom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Episode: s01e06 The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Fantasizing, Fantasy Adjustments, Masturbation, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAbsalom/pseuds/OAbsalom
Summary: They had returned to his flat, exhausted and tipsy. Crowley even a bit more tipsy than he had any right to be from the hand that had reached for his. Held it the whole way back to Mayfair. It wasn’t exactly a secret, the way they felt for one another.  But they couldn’t exactlydoanything about it all this time, could they? Maybe things were different now; they could lean into the thing they’d comfortably been compromising on.It wouldn’t be tonight, though.And so, Crowley fancied a wank. Sod it, it had been a bloody long day; Crowleydeserveda wank.((Post-bus Crowley and Aziraphale don't get it on, and Crowley needs to masturbate the stress of the last few days away. So, he reworks the night until it goes exactly the way he wanted.))
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 160





	if i keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you

Crowley fancied a wank. Sod it, it had been a bloody long day; Crowley _deserved_ a wank. He stared up at his stark ceiling. 

They had returned to his flat, exhausted and tipsy. Crowley even a bit more tipsy than he had any right to be from the hand that had reached for his. Held it the whole way back to Mayfair, the man it belonged to piping up occasionally with this or that, discussing their plans for what should come next. But mostly, the journey was a quiet exhaustion. Disbelief, really. 

The leather of the sofa creaked as they sat down next to one another. The mood between them wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It was all quite a relief, to be honest. The apocalypse hadn’t happened. Aziraphale hadn’t burned like his bookshop. Crowley hadn’t held the angel’s reluctance - no, his renouncement of Peteresque proportions - against him. They were just themselves, as they’d been for thousands of years. Admittedly a lot more tired than ever before, but there was an easy intimacy. They sat in the quiet headspace afforded by the bottle of wine they’d passed between them.

There wasn’t much to say - what _do_ you say? In the breathless moment that hangs between a convicted man surviving the gauntlet and being swung round to face it again, are there words to give him? There were smiles, though, and small chuckles to acknowledge their long-awaited capitulation. It wasn’t exactly a secret, the way they felt for one another. But they couldn’t exactly _do_ anything about it all this time, could they? Maybe things were different now; they could lean into the thing they’d comfortably been compromising on.

It wouldn’t be tonight, though.

Evil may never sleep, and Virtue may be ever-vigilant, but those two things didn’t exist anymore as far as Aziraphale was concerned, and the angel had drifted off to sleep without so much as rolling over on the couch. Crowley had whispered to him a time or two to rouse him. There was more than one bed, after all; he could get all settled and properly rested. Tucked somewhere safe. When his friend didn’t awaken, he lifted his fingers - thought twice and replaced the second thought with apathy - and snapped a blanket over his sleeping companion. 

Crowley was just as dead tired as his friend, but that didn’t erase all of the anxiety and pain and stress and bleeding _frustration_ that had built up over the last couple of days. He bit his lip and glanced out through the glass toward his plants - toward the room where the object of his love lay. With as hard as he’d fallen asleep, Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t be stirring anytime soon. Besides, the tremendous stone door was swung shut. And Crowley could be quiet. 

He stretched his back a time or two to unpinch it from the bed below him and cupped himself loosely in his palm over the pajama bottoms he’d put on _just in case_. More silk filled his hand than dick at this point, but this was only the start of the ritual. Maybe ritual was a strong word. Crowley was a lover of all things worldly; he rarely went about it exactly the same way each time. But there were elements. Elements that remained in place, halflives long, radiating an aching pleasure through every nerve ending.

_They returned to his flat, exhausted and tipsy. Crowley even a bit more tipsy than he had any right to be from the hand that had reached for his. Held it the whole way back to Mayfair, the man it belonged to smiling and looking toward eyes he couldn’t quite see - Crowley had removed his glasses then, wanted Aziraphale to see them, to see him. Crowley had made a quip: Well, this was new. The angel had responded with a halfhearted tut and eyeroll that morphed into a bastardly, sheepish grin. But mostly, the journey was a quiet elation. Delight, really._

Crowley’s cupping transitioned into a slow, circular rub. The abundance of silk grew short as it was replaced by the flesh that quickened under his hand, pulsing heat through the slick fabric. 

_The leather of the sofa creaked as they sat down next to one another. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It was a relief. They were there, together again. It wasn’t exactly a secret, the way they felt for one another. But they couldn’t exactly_ do _anything about it all this time, could they? Things were different now. Aziraphale had gotten answers without ever asking any Questions. Now, on the other side of that Knowledge, was Crowley, as he’d ever been._

_Aziraphale had reached for him on that bus, and Crowley could reach back. The demon placed his hand on his angel’s thigh and brushed his thumb back and forth._

_“Been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.”_

_Aziraphale smiled back at him. “My dear, you know I’ve been waiting just as long.”_

_With that, they leaned in to one another, lips brushing soft as fingers over an untouched floor of moss._

Crowley slipped his erection from his waistband and began slowly, idly stroking the length of himself, eyes closed slack. The only occupied seat in this theatre of the mind.

_Aziraphale had reached for him, and Crowley could reach back. The demon placed his hand on his angel’s thigh and brushed his thumb back and forth._

_“Bout time, eh?”_

_A cheeky grin bubbled up on Aziraphale’s face. “I suppose so. It’s been quite the long time coming.”_

_With that, the formalities became utterly unbearable. Their lips and tongues were at once waves and rocks and shore. He tasted the angel’s mouth as salt in the air; he felt the humid panting against his face as seaspray. Aziraphale made soft moans as their tongues wrapped around one another’s._

That one, Crowley could hear. Centuries. Centuries he’d had to memorize the sound the angel made as he enjoyed some epicurean indulgence. He kept it locked away just for this - so much so that his cock now twitched at least once at the first bite of every dessert, the first few notes of Chopin, each freshly opened first edition.

His grip tightened around his erection, and the idle pace skipped directly over leisurely to rapid. He let the sound reverberate in his skull. Tried to hear it harder. Let it hit him over and over again until it was senseless. 

_Aziraphale made loud, desperate moans as their tongues wrapped around one another’s. His fingers dug deep into Crowley’s hair, and the demon clutched at his tan waistcoat. Clutching was all it took to awaken Aziraphale’s hands, to rend and be rent. Through frenzied, breathless panting, they tore at one another’s clothes, taking turns kissing the other’s bare skin. Dazzling eyes blown wide, black pupils pushing irises to deep emerald, looked back at Crowley’s. Aziraphale held his gaze, his mouth hung open in anticipation and lust, and took the demon’s cock into his hand._

Crowley gasped, letting the motion transfer, letting the ghost of Aziraphale’s hand override his own. Satan, this was going to put him over. He wasn’t ready, he just wanted a little bit more before he was done.

_Dazzling eyes blown wide, black pupils pushing irises to deep emerald, looked back at Crowley’s. The demon pushed Aziraphale back against the arm of the couch and rutted up against him. Stinging stripes crossed his back as the angel’s fingernails scraped over it. Their cocks pressed against one another, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. His mouth was back on the angel’s to catch all his moans Crowley worked slick fingers inside of him. It was hasty. He wanted it to be enough, he was too eager to be inside of him. From the greedy, forceful tugs at his arse, he could tell Aziraphale wanted it just as badly._

What would it feel like to have the angel around his cock? Thousands of years of escapades, and that still wasn’t one that he got as much pleasure from simply calling out of thin air. He rolled over to reach the table, snatched some lube, and sloshed it over his hand and arsehole. Just as quickly as he’d opened the angel, he opened himself - his hand practiced and hole relaxed from each time this persistent element slipped into his inconstant ritual. He bit his lip hard to keep his pleasure from crawling out as sound. Quiet. Stay quiet.  
  
One leg thrown up high on a pillow, Crowley slid three fingers in and out of himself, feeling his muscles grip at his hand as it moved. Wheels and gears ticked within the enigma machine of his perception, deciphering the sensation, translating the squeeze on his fingers into Aziraphale clenching tight around his cock. 

_Taking his cock in his hand, he lined it up with Aziraphale’s--_

The demon moaned aloud. His focus had shifted from the feeling the grip made on his fingers to the feeling his _fingers_ made as they fucked into him. 

_Crowley pushed the angel back against the arm of the couch and rutted up against him. Stinging stripes crossed his back as the angel’s fingernails scraped over it. Their cocks pressed against one another, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He was eager, too eager to wait, too eager not to take care of it himself. His mouth was back on the angel’s to catch all his moans as the demon worked slick fingers inside of himself - his hand practiced and hole relaxed from each time he’d done this alone to thoughts of the man underneath him. Each time he’d thought of this very moment. Aziraphale helped to keep him propped up as he worked himself, looking greedily up at him. Hunger finally overcame the angel, and he pressed himself upward, his thick prick nudging Crowley’s fingers out of the way._

Crowley almost whined aloud, frustrated with his appetite for more; his orgasm was so close. Pleasure and oblivion could simply crash over him like a heavy, devastating spring storm the second he said the word. All he had to do was just let go. 

“Ah.. Ah.. _Unnnh..”_

And yet… He could have just a little more. He thought of his friend sleeping in the other room, and his need flared hotter. Brighter. 

He rolled back over again, pulled a dildo from a box in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. It wasn’t the only one there, but it was his favorite for imagining the angel inside of him. More lube was rubbed onto the toy and onto himself, and Crowley leaned forward hard on an elbow, reaching behind him with the other hand.

_Aziraphale helped to keep him propped up as he worked himself, looking lovingly up at him. Crowley kissed him again softly and pressed his hands to his chest, sitting up into his straddle. He leaned back against Aziraphale’s erection and looked into his eyes. The angel waited, soft-browed, breathless and serene. The demon’s tongue flitted out across his lips, and he lowered himself onto the man he loved. The head of Aziraphale’s cock pushed past the tight ring of resistance, and it was resplendent. It was unbearable. It was the breaking of the Sixth Seal - the heavens above them rolled back like a spring-tight shutter, the coasts were swallowed by the seas, and Aziraphale hid himself inside Crowley._

Crowley pushed the dildo into his arse, eyes still closed to bring to life as much of the scene as possible within his mind. Excruciatingly slowly, he took the toy deep, down to its hilt, feeling himself settling down onto Aziraphale. _Aziraphale. This is Aziraphale._

“I love you,” he whispered. No, it wasn’t a whisper. But an exhale stuttered from his lips, and they moulded themselves to the shape of the words. A breath. Two. Then he slowly withdrew the dildo, just barely catching on the rim of his entrance before thrusting it back in again.

Satan himself rising from the concrete of the floors couldn’t have kept the groans from leaving his mouth. He buried his face in the pillow, lest he wake the whole flat. And yet, as he envisioned riding his imagined lover, he gasped the angel’s name against the bed.

Shuddering, breathless, and face burning so hot it stung, Aziraphale lay paralyzed on the couch, hearing the muffled moans of his name - a secret he shouldn’t hear. A confession to a priest in a satin pillowcase, and sacred as such. 

The imagination is a tameless creature. A starved animal only needs a small morsel - an infinitesimal taste and an open cage to run ravenously through the wood to hunt on its own. 

The retired angel of the Lord pressed up quietly against the hand resting on his crotch.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Eyes Closed_ by Halsey


End file.
